


The Sun Goes Down Every Night

by Kittendiamore



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Cheating, F/M, Infidelity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-15 15:13:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13033842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittendiamore/pseuds/Kittendiamore
Summary: An ever-present but unmentioned spectre; they’re interrupted by Damen’s phone ringing. “Answer it,” Laurent says.Damen wonders if he likes this: being involved in something scandalous that no-one knows about. Laurent is sweet, but can also be undeniably vicious. He tries not to think about whether he gets a malicious kind of satisfaction from helping Damen tear his own life down.





	The Sun Goes Down Every Night

**Author's Note:**

> My friends. Before you read this story, please look at the tags and decide if it's something you actually want to read. Sometimes people do shitty things. Sometimes authors want to write about people doing shitty things.

It isn’t premeditated. Sometimes people get overcome by emotions. Things happen. Insert cliche excuse here. At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter whether Damen intended for this to happen or not: what matters is that it happens at all.

Laurent comes back home for his uni summer break. It’s his second year and he’s nineteen now. The Akielos and de Vere families have been friends for as long as Damen’s been alive, but this is the first time he really notices the middle brother.

He’s all long-limbed beauty. Tall, golden, and confident. It’s the confidence that really does it - he’s bloomed after two years away from Auguste’s protective gaze. His eyes are bright. Damen sees him in snapshots; a supercut of heavy lidded lashes and slow smiles. He’s particularly fond of the way that Laurent tilts his head towards Damen when he speaks, as if he’s listening to every word carefully and is on the precipice of cutting him down at one wrong sentiment.

Still, Damen doesn’t go seeking Laurent out that night, the night that everything starts. He’s actually looking for Auguste, knocking on his apartment door at one in the morning and full of self pity.

Laurent’s the one who opens the door. He’s dressed for bed - long, blond hair brushed out and an oversized white bed shirt on. The shirt is only _just_ long enough to be modest. The collar is wide to the point of leaving one shoulder bare. It’s lightly freckled.

“Damen,” Laurent says. The way his mouth curves the syllables of his name makes it sound like something special. “Is something wrong?”

“No, I-” Damen hadn’t remembered that Laurent returned to the city yesterday. He’s been busy. “Is Auguste here?”

Laurent has this funny little smile on his face, the kind that is reserved for moments when he feels second best. Laurent and Auguste love each other as if born from one soul, but Laurent still has moments of insecurity. “He’s out,” Laurent says, “with a _friend_.”

The emphasis on the word friend leaves no doubt in Damen’s mind that it’s Kashel. Auguste adores her, but she’s a little too free spirited to be introduced to the family just yet. Chances are that Auguste won't be home tonight.

“Ah,” Damen says. It feels odd to notice Laurent like this, when he knew him as a snot nosed little boy. The difference that’s been made in the months since they’ve seen each other is monumental; he’s like a whole different person. His mouth is a perfect rosebud shape.

Laurent watches him on the stoop for a long moment before he opens the door wider. “You should come in.”

Laurent pours them both a glass of ice-cold water, and they sit on the couch together, backs against the arm rests so they can face one another. Damen feels oddly aware of the sounds around him, the hum of traffic on the street below and the rotating buzz of the ceiling fan. Summer brings humidity, even at night.

Laurent talks about his university; his classmates are boring but his classes are good. He’s always been too smart for his peers, Damen’s glad he’s finding his place in higher education. He perks up when he mentions a play that Damen’s read.

“You’ve read it?” he asks, in a breathless kind of voice that affects Damen.

“It’s on Mum’s bookshelf,” Damen explains, “I picked it up once when I was bored and couldn’t put it down.” It’s feels oddly illicit to discuss this common thread. Damen’s well-read, but he’s known more for his athletic and business pursuits. Their legs are tangled. Laurent leans forward.

“What did you think?”

“I enjoyed it,” Damen says. He’s unconsciously leaning forward too. “The ambiguous morality of the protagonist was especially well-done. She’s charismatic, but heavily flawed.”

“Yes,” Laurent says. He elongates the ‘s’ sound.

Laurent shifts gracefully into a kneeling position, almost between Damen’s lazily sprawled legs. He rests his slender palms on Damen’s knees. His fingers are long, his nails are neat and clean. He has really nice hands.

Laurent kisses him, on a couch in an apartment neither of them own. It’s the beginning of summer and there’s something viscerally right about it. Damen doesn’t know if Laurent’s ever kissed anyone before - they’ve never discussed it but Damen hasn’t heard of him dating anyone - and he licks his way into Laurent’s red mouth anyway. Laurent is something of a contradiction; rough but gentle, confident but unsure. He tastes fresh.

His hands slide up Damen’s thighs. Laurent allows Damen’s tongue inside his mouth and makes pleased little noises at the experience. He’s dreamy in the purest sense of the word - so perfect that Damen fears he might be imagining him. Laurent pulls back and they look at each other, faces inches apart. Laurent’s eyes bore into him. He feels as if he’s on a precipice.

“Laurent,” Damen says. He knows what he’s meant to say right now; he knows that he’s meant to stop this.

“Don’t. Just tell me: do you want me?” Laurent asks.

“Yes,” Damen says. He’s helpless.

“Then take me.”

It happens slowly, as if they have all the time in the world. Wandering hands and bodies pressed against each other. They come together, in a night-dark room, with only the neon light pollution from the city illuminating them. Laurent’s t-shirt is bunched up above his nipples and Damen has a line of scratches down his back that he tries not to think about. There comes a point, right before the climax, where neither of them are in control enough to kiss with finesse. The way their lips slide against each other is something that will burn itself into Damen’s memory for the rest of his life.

Afterwards, Laurent peels off his shirt and they clean themselves off, before Laurent’s blonde head is resting on Damen’s chest. Damen idly runs his fingers through Laurent’s hair, as soft as silk. He’s bad at thinking after sex, but he’s coherent enough to know that what they’ve just done is monumental. He hasn’t felt this changed since he lost his virginity at fifteen, almost ten years ago.

Still in his jeans pocket, on the floor below them, Damen’s phone buzzes. Laurent reaches for it and hands it to him. He watches Damen read the message.

It’s a text from Jokaste: _I’m sorry. Come home and talk to me, baby. I love you._

He locks the screen and puts his phone down without responding. He doesn’t know what to say.

“Did you have a fight?” Laurent asks.

Damen’s always been a hot-blooded person. He tries to get out of the apartment quickly when he and Jokaste fight, before he says something he regrets. “Auguste usually talks me down,” he explains.

“Our dads have a bet going,” Laurent says, “about whether Auguste will bring his secret girlfriend home before you and she get engaged or not.”

He’s honestly never given it much thought. “I should go,” he says, instead of _ask me to stay_.

Laurent sits up, hands Damen his pants. When Damen stands up to put them on, Laurent hisses sympathetically. “You should sleep with your shirt on, for a few days.”

Damen can still feel the sensation of Laurent under him, nails clawing across his back when he brought them together with one hand. It’s going to be uncomfortably hot sleeping with a shirt on. He hesitates. “I’ll tell her-”

“No,” Laurent cuts in. “Don’t. It’s too messy. I’ll be back at uni in eight weeks, anyway.”

“Okay,” he says. He pulls on his shirt. Laurent walks him to the door.

“Thank you,” Laurent says, and then he kisses Damen, a peck on the lips before the door closes on him.

Damen goes back home.

-

 

The worst part is that through all of what follows that night - talking with Jokaste and forgiving their fight, softly rejecting her attempt at make-up sex (a particular specialty of hers), sleeping with a shirt firmly covering the marks on him - is that he doesn’t feel regret. Not really.

-

 

Every summer, right before Christmas, the de Vere’s have a party. It’s a classy affair - champagne and cheese plates by the poolside, while they all catch up with each other. The scratch marks don’t last long enough for him to need an excuse to swim in his shirt, thankfully. It’s been a week, and it’s the first time he sees Laurent back from uni, officially.

Laurent is the only man in existence who can make a bun and boardshorts combination look both elegant and alluring. “Damen,” he says, smiling brightly as they hug. “I’d hoped I’d grow taller while I was away, but you’re still as tall as ever.”

Damen doesn’t have a talent for deception, so he stays quiet.

Laurent turns to Jokaste. “How are you?” he asks her, kissing her cheeks.

Auguste invites Kashel to the party, to make their relationship debut, and Damen pretends not to see his father exchanging money with Aleron.

Kastor arrives with his wife and toddler, and everyone coos over the child. Nicaise is at a friend’s house, too young to really enjoy this kind of gathering. Both of Damen’s mums are chatting with Hennike. Egeria, his biological mother, and Hennike are childhood friends. His parents nearly got excommunicated from high-society for their polyamorous set-up, until Hennike - the undisputed Queen Bee - publicly endorsed the relationship.

It makes Damen nervous to see Laurent whisk Jokaste away for drinks, but Auguste is already challenging him to a race in the pool and there isn’t a good enough reason to decline. Part of him hopes that Laurent’s going to tell her about what happened, but another part hopes no-one finds out, ever. It feels too special for words to describe the event, a cosmic celebration between them like a star going supernova made more special without anyone to witness it.

-

 

“The de Vere’s are so dramatic,” Jokaste says, against his side in the taxi home. “First Gus presents his secret lover and now Laurent’s confided in me about some girl at uni that he’s pining for.”

“What girl?” Damen says.

“He wouldn’t give me a name,” she says. “He only wanted to know if he should ask you for dating advice.”

“What did you say?”

“Darling,” Jo smiles up at him. “You’re much too handsome to be any good at flirting. Girls just fall for you when you so much as look at them.”

-

 

His relationship with Jokaste isn’t a bad one. She’s funny and quick as a whip, not to mention amazing in bed. They’re both very hot tempered people and it means that when they fight, it’s an event to behold, but they’ve never actually seriously discussed breaking up.

It’s less that they’re madly in love, and more that they’re an equation that should work. They’re the right combination of ambition and power, the right contrast in beauty. They’re the kind of couple that gets photographed at events for magazine articles. She’s perfect for him in theory, but it’s a theory that hasn’t been proven.

When they have sex, it’s the epitome of pornography. She moans in all the right place, arches her back at the exact best angle, and he fucks her as if he’ll die if he’s not inside her.

“I was thinking,” Jokaste says, propped up by her elbows, covered in a sheen of sweat. “We should go to that art gallery opening this weekend.”

“Okay,” he says, as he always does when she suggests these things. He doesn’t know what gallery she’s talking about. He’s still catching his breath.

Jokaste smiles.

-

 

He gets a text from Laurent while he’s at work.

_Auguste is taking Kashel to the holiday house this weekend,_ it says. _Come over Saturday and languish in the lack of air-conditioning with me._

Only Laurent can use words like languish in a text message and make it sound natural. _Yes_ , Damen replies, when he should be saying no, _I can’t let you suffer alone._

-

 

He doesn’t want to call it an affair, even though that’s what it is. Laurent laughs when Damen shows up and it’s barely midday, and they spend the afternoon kissing lazily in Auguste’s oversized bathtub.

“Pride and Prejudice,” Laurent says, while Damen pretends to wash his hair but is mostly just playing with it.

“Read it,” Damen replies. Then, after a pause, “The film with Keira Knightley is also highly recommended.”

Laurent laughs, delighted. “The sexual tension in that is exemplary. War and Peace?”

“No,” Damen says. “I read the wikipedia summary once though.”

This makes Laurent laugh even more.

-

 

They play Auguste’s records in the living room, and Laurent teaches him how to foxtrot to them. Laurent’s the kind of person who takes random, extracurricular classes like dance, just in case the opportunities arises where he’ll need the skill set.

Laurent is perfect like this, laughing with wet hair and socks on his feet, as they slide around the tiles at dusk. He’s joyous when Damen missteps but elated when he gets it right. Damen wants to spend the rest of his life with this moment on repeat.

An ever-present but unmentioned spectre, they’re interrupted by Damen’s phone ringing. “Answer it,” Laurent says.

Damen wonders if he likes this: being involved in something scandalous that no-one knows about. Laurent is sweet, but can also be undeniably vicious. He tries not to think about whether he gets a malicious kind of satisfaction from helping Damen tear his own life down.

He answers the phone.

“If you get home by six,” Jokaste says, “you’ll have time to get into something respectable before we have to be at the gallery.”

She sounds happy. She trusts him. He remembers her telling him once about some of the fucked up things she’d done in past relationships. She’d ended by saying _that’s what draws me to you, I think. You’re not like that, and I’m ready to not be like that too._

People often confuse him with someone who doesn’t do anything wrong. He likes to think he’s mostly a nice person, but nice is different to good. He opens doors for strangers and always tips buskers on the street, but he also succumbs to temptation.

He’s never cheated on anyone before, so maybe Jokaste is right. Maybe he’s good except for when Laurent is added to the equation. When x=Laurent, Damen is susceptible.

-

 

The gallery is boring. Damen isn’t a man made for abstract concepts and garish colour palettes. He likes old art, the kind that actually looks like something. He drinks champagne and shares commiserating looks with other people that have been dragged along by their partners. Jokaste talks about inspired social commentaries and he tries to listen but most of it sounds farfetched at best. They smile, hands around each other’s waists, when the promotional photographer comes by. Jokaste’s dress is red and classy without sacrificing sensuality. His tie is a darker shade of red - she picked it out for him.

When they go home Jokaste smiles at him in a way that means she _forgot_ to put on underwear tonight, and Damen pretends not to notice and has a long, hot shower. She’s asleep by the time he gets out.

-

 

He can’t even say that Laurent’s the one to always initiate things. They text near constantly, and Damen has to change his privacy settings so the messages don’t show on the lockscreen. Laurent has the particular ability to turn written words into phrases that turn Damen on more than porn ever has, and he can’t bring himself to delete any of the messages. He knows this is what gets people caught, a rookie error, but he thinks he’d rather be eviscerated than lose the message describing what feelings exactly that his cock has awakened in Laurent.

Laurent comes to his office once, charms his assistant into thinking he just wants practical business advice from his family friend, and then he locks the door behind him and convinces Damen to fuck him on his desk. Even when he has to stay quiet, Laurent uses his hands and his expressions and his lips to tell Damen just how much he’s enjoying himself.

By the fourth week of making love in the dark, Damen knows that this is something he doesn’t have to power - or sense - to end. Laurent makes everything seem alright, or good even.

Laurent runs his foot up the inside of Damen’s calf one night during a dinner with their families, while Jokaste discusses something with Hennike. 

-

 

Christmas has come and gone, and Auguste and Damen spend the morning of New Year’s Eve hanging out in Aleron’s study. It’s something of a tradition, since they were fifteen and Aleron caught them trying to steal scotch from his bar.

“I can’t stop thinking about her,” Auguste says, sprawled across an expensive leather armchair.

Damen is sitting on the floor in front of him, playing solitaire with a stack of cards he found in a desk drawer. “Your dad likes her,” Damen says. “He told me not to tell you. He thinks it’s funny how nervous you are about it.”

“I dream about her,” he replies. “Even when we spend the days together, and sleep in the same bed, it’s like my mind can’t get enough of her. Is it like that with Jokaste?”

Damen flips another card. “Not really,” he says. “We’ve always been better with a little distance between us every now and then.”

“What about with Laurent?”

Damen looks up. Auguste’s pose is anything but casual now. He’s watching Damen carefully.

“I,” Damen says. He’s never been good at lying. “How did you know?”

Auguste sighs heavily. “Well, now I do,” he says. “He deleted the name, but I recognised your number coming up on his phone screen at all hours.”

“Ah,” Damen says. There’s not much else to say.

“What are you doing, Damen?”

“I’m in love with him,” Damen replies, simply. “Beyond that, I don’t know.”

“Break up with Jokaste, then,” he says. “It’s not fair to either of them.”

“Laurent told me not to. He doesn’t want to discuss it.”

“Make him discuss it,” Auguste is stern. “He’s loved you since he was young, I think. He doesn’t want to be vulnerable with his feelings; you have to push him.”

Damen nods. “I know.”

“God,” Auguste says, “if you weren’t my best friend, I’d murder you for this. I still might.”

-

 

Damen knows they have to discuss it. He knows when they get lunch together. He knows when Laurent coerces him into hooking up in the bathroom of the upscale restaurant. He knows when they go back to Damen’s apartment and kiss while Jokaste is working late.

They don’t discuss it.

-

 

He gets suspicious that Jokaste knows. She stops initiating sex, and he catches her staring at him often. He drives them over to his house for another dinner with his family and the de Vere’s, and that’s when she chooses to speak her mind.

“Baby,” she says. “Is everything alright at work?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

She shifts, fiddles with the air-conditioner controls. “I don’t know. You’ve been distant lately. You avoid checking your phone when you’re with me. I know it’s not your ideal career. Maybe it’s time to tell your dad that you want to start the charitable off-shoot.”

Damen’s not a good liar, but this is something he doesn’t have to lie to her about. “I’ve been thinking about it,” he says. “But it’s not the right time. I’m going to give it a few more months.”

-

 

Instead of turning on the air conditioner, his parents serve dinner on the patio and they eat under the fairy lights his mother set up. The glow of them does something ethereal to Laurent’s colouring. Damen tries hard not to keep stealing glances. Jokaste is to his left, Auguste to his right, and Laurent across from him. Nicaise, the youngest brother, sits next to Laurent and scowls. He’s gotten to the rebellious stage where children think they know better than adults - and they probably do.

“Are you ready to be back at uni next week, Laurent?” His father asks.

Laurent smiles. “Honestly, I’m looking forward to getting this degree over with. I’m enjoying it but I’m ready to come back. This summer has given me a new appreciation for the city.”

Damen can feel Auguste looking at him. He takes a bite of salad - it’s too hot for anything more substantial.

Hennike looks pleased. “I’m so glad,” she says. “The house isn’t the same without you, my love.”

Nicaise snorts. “It’s not like he’s been spending time here anyway.”

“I said it’s the city I missed,” Laurent says, cooly, “not you sassing me constantly.”

Nicaise goes back to scowling.

“We should set something up for your last week here,” Jokaste says. “A beach party, maybe.”

Laurent spears a piece of feta before he looks to her. “I was going to convince Damen to take me camping,” he says. “I’ve never been before and I’m in want of a new experience.”

The conversation continues, but Damen feels Jokaste’s hand slip off of his knee.

“Ah,” she says, her voice pitched oddly. “Well, I won’t try to join you in that. I have no desire to sleep on the ground.”

“Damen,” Auguste says, too casually. “Come get a refill with me.”

“You’re not finished your current drink,” Aleron says.

“He’s just trying to sneak away,” Nicaise says, “so he can tell Damen to pick either Jokaste or Laurent already.”

Jokaste and Laurent both drop their cutlery in a clatter. The synchronicity between them would almost be amusing, if Damen’s heart hadn’t leapt into throat.

Damen can feel everyone looking at him, but he also can’t school his expression into anything but absolute guilt.

There’s a long silence.

“Damen,” Nessa says, in that disappointed mum tone of voice that immediately makes him want to disappear.

Jokaste rights her cutlery. “How long?” she says. Her voice is sharp but controlled. Damen thinks of how committed she is to always keeping up appearances - this must be especially humiliating for her.

Damen and Laurent remain silent. She looks at Nicaise. “How did you find out?”

“I heard Damen and Gus talking about it in the study,” Nic says, “on New Years.”

The boy has always been a sneak.

“New years,” Jo repeats, sounding weak. Then stronger, outraged. “You’ve all known since New Years and it took the thirteen year old to tell me.”

She stands up. Damen looks up at her.

“Fuck you,” she says to him. Damen’s never heard her swear before. She turns and storms out before he can answer.

The awful silence returns to the table.

“Damen,” Theomedes says. “She’s upset. You can’t let her drive.”

Damen stands up. He looks at Laurent. He doesn’t know what Laurent’s expression is. Something like shock at things not going his way for once. Damen feels bad for ever thinking that Laurent might enjoy this drama. He’s not a malicious person. He’s _only_ nineteen, Damen thinks.

He goes after Jokaste.

She’s outside, leaning against the car door and crying. It’s an odd moment to think that even though he feels guilty, he doesn’t feel regret. He doesn’t know what to say to her. It’s as if there’s been an earthquake, and the ground has split open between them. The chasm is too wide to cross.

She looks up, sees him. “Go away,” she says.

“What are you doing?” he says. “You can’t drive in this state.”

“You have no right to tell me what I can and can’t do.”

Damen sighs. “I’ll get you a cab.”

“Fuck you.”

“Or I’ll drive you.”

She wipes her eyes furiously. “I hate you so much,” she says. “I thought things were good. I knew you were acting distant, but I told myself it was just stress. You were just overworked.”

“I know,” he says.

“Tell me the truth,” she says, “when did it start?”

It’s a simple question, but he can’t help but think that it started years ago: that when Hennike and his mother became friends as children it got written in the stars that their children would one day fall in love. That’s not the answer she wants though, or one he’s cruel enough to give her. “At the start of summer break,” he says. “When we had that fight and I went to Auguste’s to cool off.”

“No,” she says. “I could kill you. It’s been two months. Two months! I trusted you.”

“I know,” he says.

“Did you even consider telling me? Or were you getting off on the secrecy?”

“I wanted to tell you,” he admits. “And I didn’t. I was going to that first night, but…”

“But?” she prompts, and then laughs bitterly at his silence. “But _Laurent_.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re not,” she snaps. “God, I should have known when he told me about some girl. I thought he was finally trying to bond with me. But of course he’s as gay as a rainbow.”

“Jo,” he says. He doesn’t know what else to say.

“Fuck you,” she says. “Get me a taxi, I don’t want to see your face anymore.”

They stand next to each other while they wait, her shoulders shaking with silent tears that they both ignore.

“I would say I hope he’s worth it,” she says, when the cab pulls up, “but I really hope he’s not. I hope he hurts you like you’ve hurt me, and you suffer for it.”

He stays outside for a long time after she leaves, eyes closed, listening to the sound of cars passing by.

He doesn’t know how long he’s out there before he hears footsteps approaching. He doesn’t need to open his eyes to know it’s Laurent. He can sense his presence in his bones like they’re made out of dust from the same star, like it recognises itself and drags them together.

“Do you want to come inside?” Laurent asks.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm @nikanndros on tumblr. Title from Kind of Woman by Stevie Nicks.


End file.
